Aftermath Before the Funeral
by Bad Mum
Summary: At The Burrow before Fred's funeral, the family are trying to cope. And failing... Each chapter deals with a different character. Rated T for bad language. Now complete.
1. Arthur

Yeah, I know I have a chapter of "Birthdays" to finish. Yeah, I know I don't need to start any more fics. But this idea is stuck in my head, and won't go away.

Lots of Fred-angst...

Please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Arthur**_

He is trying to be strong for everyone else, but he knows that he is not fooling anyone. The fact he keeps disappearing into his shed is a bit of a giveaway.

He feels guilt as well as pain and overwhelming loss.

He feels guilty about Molly. How is it possible to love someone so much, and feel their pain as your own, yet be able to do absolutely _nothing _to stop it? He holds her when she cries in the night, when she breaks down during the day – as she does often. But he cannot help her. His pain and hers are the same. They have lost their son, and they feel lost themselves. But they can do nothing to help each other except hold on and hope that the waves of grief will pass and leave them exhausted and drained but somehow still whole.

He feels guilty that Bill is arranging Fred's funeral, and walking the tightrope between Molly and George's ideas about what Fred's headstone should say. That should be Arthur's job, but he cannot bring himself to do it. No father should have to arrange his son's funeral. (But no one should have to arrange their younger brother's either. Not when the younger brother was barely twenty.) He feels guilty that Bill feels that he has to be the strong one. If he was doing a better job of being strong himself, Bill would not feel like that.

He feels guilty about Charlie's anger. He doesn't know what to do about it, and he feels that he should.

He feels guilty about Percy's guilt… About Ron's pain, and Ginny's. They are his children, and he cannot help them. He can barely keep going himself – how can he help anyone else? But he is their _father_. He should be able to help them.

Most of all he feels guilty about George. George, who sits beside his brother's coffin; or on his own in the corner of the room, oblivious to all that is going on around him; or who hides away in his own room. He tries to talk to him – they all do – but no one seems able to get through to him. It is as if they have lost him as well as Fred. Arthur feels he should be holding onto him tighter, keeping him safe as he failed to keep Fred safe, but he does not know how to do it.

And he cannot look at George. Or not properly. He just can't. Not because he looks like Fred – he knows that is why Charlie can't look at him, but that is not the problem for him. He cannot look at George because he no longer looks like _George_. And Arthur has no idea at all how to bring him back.

So he feels guilt as well as pain. He tries to be strong, but knows he is failing. How can he keep his family together when he can barely keep himself together?

Arthur knows that the best he can do is not enough. Not for this.


	2. Ron

Chapter 2! The order of the characters will not be "logical" but it makes sense to me...

I adore Ron, but I find him incredibly difficult to write.

Please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Ron**_

It was not supposed to be like this.

You Know Who is finished. The War is over. They should be going back to a normal life, celebrating with the rest of the wizarding world, making plans for the future. As it is, life seems to have come to a halt.

They are home at The Burrow, home after so long, but it does not seem like home. It is too quiet. Far too quiet – even when someone starts crying, or when Charlie yells at someone, it is only a temporary break in the unnatural silence that has descended. When they do talk, it is in low voices, as if they might wake someone sleeping. They seem to have forgotten how to be a normal family.

He and Hermione should be planning a trip to Australia to find her parents and restore their memories, but there is no way they can go now. Ron could not leave his family, even if he wanted to. And he does not want to. Hard as it is to be here, it would be harder _not_ to be here. And Hermione will not leave him, for which he is grateful. He knows that she and Harry, and maybe even Fleur, feel like intruders on the family's grief, but he could not carry on without her. Not now. Her presence, and the memory of that kiss in the midst of chaos that assured him that she was finally and unequivocally _his _are all that is keeping him going.

He understands why Charlie is so angry, and feels that he might be too, if only he had the energy. He sees and pities Percy's guilt. He does not understand how Bill can seem so calm and in control – until he catches Fleur's worried eyes upon her husband, and realises that Bill might not be keeping things together as well as he would like his family to believe. He does not want to even _think_ about what George must be feeling. He knows somehow that Ginny feels the same as he does – grief for Fred of course, but also an overwhelming feeling that this is so bloody _unfair _after all they have gone through already.

Part of him still thinks that this might be a bad dream. Even though he knows what happened. Even though he was _there_. (He is, in an obscure way, grateful that he was. He saw Fred die. He knew he was dead, knew straight away that he was. That was hard – bloody hell, what an understatement - but he feels it would have been harder not to be there, to have someone tell him, to have to imagine what happened.)

For some reason, he keeps going over in his head what happened at Hogwarts last year, when Bill was injured. He sees his brother lying in a pool of blood, his face ripped to shreds. He thought he was dead, that he _must _be dead with injuries like that. He feels Ginny's hand cold in his, hears her whisper, "He's dead, isn't he?" He feels himself nodding. Then he sees Remus Lupin, blessedly sensible and matter-of-fact, kneeling by Bill, saying he is _not _dead, that they have to get him to the hospital wing right away.

Why could that not have happened this time? Why couldn't this have been a mistake too?

How _can _Fred be dead? He will not cry, because to do so would be to acknowledge that he is.

But if, for a minute, he tries to forget or pretend that it is a dream or a mistake, all he has to do is to look at his mother, or at Ginny – or worst of all, at George – to know that it is true.

Coming home was never meant to be like this.


	3. Charlie

This one's really short, but I think more would be overkill. I know I told several people Fleur was next, but I had a rethink. She _might _be next, but she might not! I've upped the rating to T because of bad language.

Please read and review.

(Oh, and if you're waiting on the next chapter of "Birthdays", it is nearly done, honest.)

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Charlie**_

He knows that being angry isn't helping. It's not helping him, and it's making things worse for everyone else. (Scratch that – how _can_ things be any worse?)

But he is frightened to let go of the anger. If he does, he'll have to replace it with something else, and the thought scares him.

So he welcomes his anger, even nurses it.

He is angry with Percy because he was a coward and a traitor, and yet he came back in time for the battle, in time to be with Fred when…

He is angry with Harry, because if he had gone to You Know Who sooner, Fred might not have…

He is angry with Bill for pretending to cope with all this. (He knows his elder brother well enough to realise that he is _not _coping, whatever the rest of the family might think.)

He is angry with everyone else for _not _coping, and for showing that they are not.

He cannot be angry with George, but he cannot look at him because he looks like…

He is angry with Fred for…

Most of all, he is angry with himself. For not coming back in time for the battle. For not being there when… For letting his family down. For not being able to react normally to this. His brother is dead. His brother is _dead_. Why can't he cry like the rest of them? Why does he have to be so bloody _angry_?

Finally, when he has managed to reduce Fleur, Percy and his mother to tears all within a half hour period, Bill confronts him and tells him that enough is enough. If he wants to be so _fucking_ self-indulgent in his feelings, he can go elsewhere, because they do not need him here right now. He comes closer to hitting Bill than he has since he was fifteen.

But then, something cracks inside him, and he collapses in tears in Bill's arms.

It is a relief.


	4. Fleur I

Okay, this is really short. I have another bit in mind for Fleur, but it doesn't go with this, so she's getting two chapters. (Greedy, I know!) This fits in with chapters 11 and 12 of my "Birthdays" fic, if you're interested.

Oh, I and I guess this should really be in French, but my French ain't that good. Translate it yourself, if yours is!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated, and make me write faster.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Fleur I**_

On the morning after the Battle, when they have returned to The Burrow, she finds Fred's hand from Molly's clock twisted and broken on the floor. At first, when she picks it up, she does not realise what it is. Then she sees the name on it, and the other hands on the clock finally pointing to _"Home"_, and she realises.

Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny are sitting at the kitchen table, not talking, cups of tea cooling in front of them. Ginny has stopped crying for the first time since they arrived home, although she is still clinging to Harry's hand. Harry himself looks lost. Ron has his head on Hermione's shoulder, both of them looking desolate and very, very young. In the living room, Bill, whose scars were re-opened during the Battle, is lying on the settee talking quietly to his father sitting beside him on a hard chair. Despite the potions Madam Pomfrey has given him, Fleur knows that her husband is still in pain. Charlie is pacing to and fro, apparently unable to keep still. Percy is curled in an armchair, staring at nothing. George is in the other armchair, hunched over with his face hidden in his arms. He is not crying, but is shaking all over. His mother is perched on the arm of his chair, rubbing his back, tears streaming unchecked down her face.

The twisted metal is hard and sharp in Fleur's hand. None of them need to know about this now. She hides it in her pocket and says nothing.


	5. Ginny

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Ginny**_

She wishes that she could stop crying. She does not cry. Her brothers cry sometimes (although they might not admit it), but she does not. Except that now she does not seem to be able to stop. How is it possible to cry this much and still have tears left?

When she saw Fred's body, she knew it was him straightaway – she did not need to look for the missing ear to tell which twin it was. She has always been able to tell them apart.

Fred's face is slightly thinner than George's. George's eyes are a lighter shade of brown, and there is a streak of grey in the left one that isn't there in Fred's. The pattern of their freckles is different. And Fred is half an inch taller than his twin (a fact which George always denies, but it is true). There is more than that though. There is something about them that means that she has always known which twin is which. The rest of the family might get it wrong now and again. She never has.

But now it doesn't matter. There is no "Fred and George" any more. Now it is just George. No one to mix him up with. Just George.

She wonders if it is wrong that she feels worse about George than she does about Fred. How can he go on? How can he be just George, when he has been half of Fred and George for all his life? How can he continue when half of himself is missing? How can he possibly bear this?

There is no "the twins". No Fred and George.

Just George.

She does not know how to bear it for herself. Worse, she does not know how to bear it for George. She hates that she cannot help him. The only person he needs is gone forever. She cannot bear it.

Oh Fred.

Oh George.

Ginny cries for Fred. She cries for herself, and for the brother she has lost.

But most of all, she cries for George.

She hopes she will not lose him too.


	6. Hermione

Now, this has turned out the longest so far, which surprises me. I've never written Hermione before, and I'm not sure I've got her right.

Reviews welcome - please be merciful!

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Hermione**_

She has never felt like an outsider in this house before. The Weasleys may be a close family, but they have a way of making you feel included, like you are one of them, as if they are glad you are there. But not now. Fred was not her brother. She cannot mourn him as his family are doing, and so she feels like an intruder, an outsider. (She does not blame them. It is not their fault she feels like this. It is just the way things are.)

She wonders if Harry feels the same. But he is so lost in his guilt, that she doubts if he has even thought about it. She has told him; Ron has told him; Arthur and Molly and Bill have all told him, that it is not his fault, that no one blames him. Hermione doubts if he really understood what they were saying, let alone took it in or believed it.

She is pretty sure that Fleur feels the same as she does. Fleur may be a Weasley in name, but Fred was not her brother. She cannot understand what his brothers and sister are feeling any more than Hermione herself can. She too must feel as if she doesn't belong here.

A tiny part of her mind – that she feels bad about, but cannot help – wants to scream about how _bloody _unfair this is. She wants to go to Australia to get _her _family back, not to be trapped here with this grieving family, whom she cannot help, no matter how much she cares for them, no matter how much she wants to. But she cannot leave now. She can't leave Ron, when they have finally acknowledged how much they need each other. She can't leave Harry. She can't leave any of them. Not yet.

So she tries to be unobtrusive and helpful. She makes endless cups of tea. She makes sandwiches and soup, though no one seems to be eating much. She clears up. She and Fleur try to deal with the owl post as messages of sympathy and queries about the funeral start to arrive, although they have to enlist help from Bill and Percy, because neither of them know who on earth some of the people who have written are.

She tries to be there for Ron, when he will let her close enough. To hold him when he finally gives way and cries. To let him know that she cares, even if she cannot completely understand.

She sits on Ginny's bed, and rubs her back when she cries in the night. She holds her and soothes her, but knows nothing she can say or do can really help.

She cries herself. For Fred, who was her friend. For Ron, whom she loves, who has lost his brother. For George, who has lost his other self. For this broken family, who have become her own, even if she cannot feel a part of them now.

A few days after the Battle, she feels she just has to escape, and goes to the orchard. Fleur is already there, and when Hermione looks at her, she knows she feels the same. They have to get away from the pain in this house, the pain which hurts them, but which they cannot fully share. The pain which tortures those they love, but which can never be fully their own. Hermione has some Muggle money in her pocket. They go to the village and buy ice creams and chocolate from the paper shop, and then go to the playground and swing on the swings until they feel sick and dizzy and are giggling like the schoolgirls they so recently were.

They both feel guilty about it (they do not say so, but each can tell from the look in the other's eyes as they return to The Burrow). Neither of them ever admits to anyone (not even to Ron or to Bill) where they have been. Somehow though, the stolen hour makes things easier to cope with. Somehow the feeling of being trapped has gone. Somehow, now, they can go on. At least for a while.


	7. Percy

__

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Percy**_

None of them deserve this. He does, but none of the rest of them do.

_Fred _did not deserve it.

It should have been him who died. He was the one who fucked up, who abandoned his family, who practically broke his mother's heart by walking away. He was the one who was too bloody proud to say, "I'm sorry," and "I was wrong," and, "Please forgive me," until it was too _bloody _late.

It should have been him who died.

He deserved it. Fred didn't.

And, if he hadn't died himself, he should have saved Fred. He was _there_. Fred was his little brother, and he died in front of him, and he hadn't done a sodding thing to save him.

He should have saved him.

He knows his family think he's wrong (apart from Charlie – Charlie at least has it right). Arthur, although he is lost in his grief for Fred, has spent literally hours trying to convince him of the fact, to tell him that they don't blame him, that he is forgiven, that it is _not his fault_.

And _Fred_ forgave him and welcomed him back. (Although he cannot really believe it, part of him is grateful. Dreadful as this is, it would be worse if Fred had not done so, if he had to face the rest of his life knowing that Fred died thinking him a traitor and a coward.) Fred would not want him to blame himself, or to think that he should have died instead. Fred – being Fred – would have made a joke about it, but would have made it perfectly bloody obvious that he thought Percy was a git for the way he is thinking.

Even George – who has barely been able to string two words together since _it _happened – has tried to get through to him and persuade him to forgive himself.

"It wasn't your fault, Perce. It was a _War_. People die in wars. They just do."

Percy looks at him blankly. He cannot believe he means it, and George gets angry.

"Fuck it, Percy! If _Fred _can forgive you, at least do him the honour of forgiving yourself. It wasn't your bloody fault! And you may have been a Ministry-loving power hungry moron, but that's _over_ and you came back. It's over Perce! You didn't deserve to die any more than-any more than…" He collapses in tears then, and runs away to hide in his room again.

Percy cannot believe him.

He deserved to die. He should have saved Fred. He should have died himself.

He deserves to be hurting like this, but none of the rest of them do.

He deserves this.

The others don't.

George doesn't.

_Fred_ didn't.

He cannot forgive himself.

He deserves this.


	8. Fleur II

This is the longest yet, which I guess is predictable, given my love for Bill and Fleur. The idea for this chapter is actually what started the whole story - it was originally going to be a oneshot from Fleur's point of view, but it grew.

Again, translate it into French if you're clever enough!

Please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Fleur II**_

She desperately wants to go home. She wants to be at Shell Cottage, just her and Bill, no uninvited houseguests, no one but the two of them.

That will not happen of course. Bill won't – can't - leave his family, and she won't –can't - leave him.

But she has not felt so much like an outsider here since she stayed at The Burrow when she and Bill were first engaged, and half the family made it blindingly obvious that they disapproved. That is over now, of course. Since Bill's mauling by Greyback, even Molly has come round to her. The fact that she feels like an outsider now is nothing to do with that. It is because Fred was not her brother. She cannot grieve for him as his family do.

If she is honest (with herself – she won't say it to Bill or to anyone else, because she does not want to hurt them more), until George lost his ear last summer, she still found it practically impossible to tell the twins apart. Now, she wonders if she would feel the same if it were George who had died. Were they really so much one person in her mind that she cannot mourn Fred as an individual? She knows that the twins _were_ different, and it hurts her that she will never now know them both well enough to find out those differences for herself. Harry and Hermione knew them better than she did.

She tries to imagine how she would feel if Gabrielle died. She remembers how she did feel when Gabrielle was hostage to the merpeople during the Triwizard Tournament, and she failed to save her. She goes cold at the memory. But she cannot know what it really feels like to lose a son, a brother, a twin.

She tries to be helpful, as Hermione does. A bond develops between the two of them as they make tea, answer letters, clear up plates. One day, they escape together and forget that they are observers and intruders in a house of mourning, and act like giddy schoolgirls for a blissful (if slightly guilt-inducing) hour. She does not tell anyone about it, not even Bill.

She feels sorry for Percy and Harry, with the guilt they both feel, but do not deserve. She wants to cry for Ron and Ginny, who both look so young to her (though in reality, they are not so very much younger than she is), and who both appear so lost and disorientated. She feels awful for George. How must it feel to be alone for the first time ever? It hurts to look at him, and to realise just how much he is suffering. And she feels desperately sorry for Molly and Arthur. Children are not supposed to die before their parents. It just should not happen.

She cannot feel sorry for Charlie, because she is furious with him. She understands that he is angry with himself, but cannot forgive him for taking that anger out on everyone else. Not when Bill needs him. Bill and Charlie have always been allies, partners. Now, Charlie's anger is just one more burden for her husband to bear. She is so angry with Charlie, that she allows him to reduce her to tears on one occasion, although perhaps that is a good thing, as afterwards Bill confronts him about his attitude, and Charlie finally gives in and cries.

Bill, of course, is the reason she stays. The reason she has not escaped to Shell Cottage on her own, at least for a day or two, or gone to her parents' house in France as her mother has urged her. Bill needs her, and she cannot – will not – leave him.

She knows that the rest of the family think that Bill is coping with this. And that is partly his fault, because that is what he _wants _them to think. He is the one dealing with the practical arrangements – the funeral, the gravestone, the announcement in the _'Prophet'_, the notification of friends and relatives. He is the one everyone seems to look to to sort it out when tempers flare or disputes arise. He is the oldest, the big brother, the one who looks after the rest of them. So he has to appear calm and in control.

But Fleur knows that he is not. Sometimes his eyes meet hers across the room, and the pain in them hurts her so much she almost cries out. She knows that the physical pain from his reopened scars is bad, although he will not admit it even to her, and she bullies him into taking the potions Madam Pomfrey has prescribed. She holds him at night when he cries, or when he does not cry because he is simply too exhausted, and tries to comfort him with the warmth of her body, murmured words in a mixture of French and broken English, and the fact of her love for him. And there is one awful day, when a scared-looking Harry comes to find her and tells her that Bill is in the orchard and he needs her, and she runs and finds him pale-faced, gasping and shaking. He holds her so tightly that he hurts her, until he stops shaking and his breathing steadies, but he will not tell her what has happened.

So Fleur cannot leave.

Bill is the person keeping the family together, and she is the one stopping _him_ from falling apart.

She cannot leave when he needs her so much.


	9. Harry

This would have been posted sooner, but the stupid computer got a virus and crashed!

Dislaimer: Never written Harry in my life (he's not a Weasley is he?!) Hope I've done him justice.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

**_Harry_**

He has never felt his lack of a mother so much as he does now. He wants someone to hold him, to soothe him, to tell him that it is all over, that he is safe now, that it is not his fault, that it is alright. He wants someone to protect him, to fuss over him, not to mind if he cries, to understand how he feels. He wants someone to _mother _him.

But the only mother he has ever known has no time for him now. Oh, she smiles at him, asks if he is okay, tells him what happened to Fred and the others is not his fault, but it is not the same. Most of her mind is elsewhere. With her own children. Most if it is with Fred, who died, and with George, who somehow has to go on living. The rest is with Ron and Ginny, who need her to comfort them. With Charlie and Percy, who both push her away for their different reasons, but who need her nonetheless. With Bill, who is being strong and seems to be coping, but was hurt and is still her son who needs his mother, whether he will admit it or not.

So she has no time for him. He doubts if she even really sees him. However much a part of this family – the only real family he has ever known – he has felt in the past, he is an outsider now. The fact of Fred's death has made him one. The fact that Fred's death is his fault, that he could have prevented it if he had given himself up sooner, makes it worse. He feels as if he should not even be here, but he has nowhere else to go.

He envies Hermione and Fleur, who must also feel like outsiders, but who have nothing to blame themselves for, and who seem to have found some solace in each other's company and in being useful.

He has never felt so alone.

Of course, he is not alone. The others are there, around him, all the time, sometimes oppressively so. Hermione has told him so many times that it is not his fault that he thinks he might hex her if she says it again. Ron and Ginny have said it too – but Fred was their _brother_. He cannot believe they mean it. It _was_ his fault. They _have_ to blame him. He could have prevented it.

They need comfort too, and he feels helpless to give it to them. He hugs Ginny as she cries for Fred, strokes her hair, holds her hand, but he has nothing to say to her. What is there to say? Fred is dead, and it is his fault. How can he even begin to comfort Fred's sister?

And he pretends not to hear when Ron cries in the night. Ron would not want him to hear, and he has nothing to say to him either. He cannot offer comfort when he is hurting so much himself, when he feels so guilty, so angry, so lost, so _empty_.

He feels like an observer, rather than a participant in the family's grief. He pities Percy's guilt, because he knows what guilt feels like, but he knows that Percy does not deserve it as he does. He pities Charlie's anger too, and understands it. He almost cannot stand to look at Arthur – the pain in his eyes is just too much for him to bear. He admires the way Bill is keeping it together, recognising that he is the only one stopping this broken family from disintegrating. (But then one day he finds Bill in the orchard, chalk-white and shocked, and he realises that Bill might easily fall apart too, like the rest of them. The thought scares him, and he runs to find Fleur. There is nothing _he_ can say or do to help.)

He feels bad that he has not cried for Fred. Nor for Remus, Tonks, Colin or the others who died. They were his friends, and they are dead, but he does not seem to be able to mourn them. How can he cry for them when it is his fault they died? He does not deserve to do so.

He has never felt so alone.

He has never felt so guilty or so angry or so lost.

He has never felt so empty.

And he wants his _mother_.


	10. George

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**George**_

He cannot do this. He simply cannot do it. When he has had to face anything difficult in the past, he has not done so alone. He has never done _anything_ alone, right from the moment he was born. He has always been half of a whole. Now he feels like less than nothing.

Fred is dead.

Fred is dead.

He knows it is true. He knew the minute it happened, even though he wasn't there. (How he wishes he had been there.) He felt as if half his soul was ripped away in a second, and he hasn't been able to breathe without it hurting since. How can he go on breathing when Fred can't? How can he _be_ when Fred isn't?

He sits by Fred's body, and tries to memorise his face. He is scared he will forget what Fred's voice sounds like. (He knows that would sound stupid to anyone else. How can he forget his own face, his own voice? But it is not the same. He knows it is not.)

When he sees himself in the mirror, he can fool himself for less than a second that it is Fred he sees. Fred never looked like this – white-faced, red-eyed, with black shadows under the eyes. Fred didn't cry. (Well, he did, but not like this. George can remember every time he saw Fred cry over the last few years. When Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets and they thought she was dead. When Cedric died. When Dad was hurt. When Bill was hurt and Dumbledore died. When he lost his ear last summer.) But Fred never cried like this. He never had _reason_ to.

Part of him wishes that it had been him who had died. But that would have meant leaving Fred alone, as he is alone now. How could he wish grief like this on anyone, least of all the person he loved most in the world? So he changes it to wishing they had both died. That would have been better. Tidier. Bearable. (Because he would not have had to bear it. He shies away from the thought of how it would be for his family, for Ginny, for his _mother_.)

They try to help. They hold him when he cries. They bully him into eating. They sit with him, and try to let him know he is not alone. But he is alone, and they know it. His parents have lost their son. Bill and Charlie and Percy and Ron and Ginny have lost their brother. But none of them have lost their twin, their other half, part of themself. None of them are torn in shreds as he is. And they know it. They are there for him, but none of them is the one person he wants and cannot have.

Will never have again.

He cannot do this. He simply can't. Not without Fred. Not on his own. He can't.

Eventually, the knowledge that he cannot do this leads him to the one inescapable conclusion. He goes to their – his – their room, sits on Fred's bed, and points his wand at his own face. He wonders detachedly if it will hurt, but he doesn't care much. It cannot hurt more than what he is going though now.

There is a knock on the door, and Bill's voice calling his name. This is one reason they will not leave him alone for long. They are afraid that they will lose him too. They do not realise they already have. He ignores Bill.

"George! Open the door, or I will."

Damn. Bill is a curse-breaker. There is nothing he can do to the door that Bill will not be able to get through. He flicks his wand at the door to open it, then turns it back to his face. He does not look up as Bill comes in and sits opposite him on the other bed, but he is aware that Bill has pulled out his own wand, and is no doubt wondering if he has time to disarm his brother before he does anything.

"Can you do _Avada Kadevra _on yourself?" he asks, as if he were asking about a spell to clear up the mess on the floor or to clean the windows.

"I wouldn't know. I've never tried it." It would be a lame joke in normal circumstances, and these are far from normal. Neither of them smiles.

There is a long silence, and eventually he finds that he has to raise his eyes and look at his older brother. It is the first time he has seen Bill cry since they came home.

"I assume you're going to try to stop me?" he asks. His voice is flat. He doesn't seem to be able to manage to be angry or resentful.

"I won't, on one condition."

He can't believe he's heard right, and he gazes at Bill blankly.

There is another silence.

Then: "Go and tell Mum what you're going to do first, and I'll not stop you."

He lets out a long breath. "That's not fair, Bill."

"None of this is fair, Georgie." Bill is biting his lip, trying to speak evenly, but failing. There are tears on his face now.

Another long silence, then he holds out his wand to Bill. "Just take it. And go."

Bill stands, and takes the wand. His hand is shaking more than George's own. He turns back when he reaches the door. "Where's Fred's wand, George?"

George cannot speak, but he opens the drawer in the bedside table and pulls out Fred's wand. It is very like his own – oak with a dragon heartstring core – but shorter and thicker, less flexible, more pointed. It feels warm in his hand, familiar, comfortable. He holds it out to Bill, who takes it and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

(He does not hear Bill descending the stairs two at a time and going out through the seldom-used front door, or see him running across the yard and the garden to the orchard where he can hide until he stops shaking.)

He sits on Fred's bed for what seems a long time, and then the door opens again and Ginny comes in. She sits down beside him and holds his hand, but does not say anything. He sighs, and lies down on the bed, and she lies beside him, curling her body into his. He is glad she is there.

He keeps breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Perhaps one day he will be able to do it without it hurting.


	11. Bill

This is the longest of all, but I guess that was predictable, given both my love for Bill and the things I needed to tie in from previous chapters. (There's a fair amount of word-for-word repetition here. which I hope works.)

I think I've done Bill justice. This was the first chapter that made _me _cry.

Molly is next, and will be the final chapter.

As always. please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Bill**_

He desperately wants to go home. He wants to be at Shell Cottage, just him and Fleur, no uninvited houseguests, no one but the two of them.

That will not happen of course. He won't – can't - leave his family, and he is grateful that Fleur won't – can't – leave him, despite his suggestion that she should go home for a couple of days on her own, and her parents' letter urging her to go to stay with them in France. He does not know how he would do this without her.

He is trying to be strong for everyone else, and he thinks that he is probably fooling them most of the time. Someone has to be strong. Someone has to take care of the practical arrangements – the funeral, the gravestone, the death announcement in the _'Prophet_', notifying everyone who needs to know. He cannot blame his father for not taking care of these things himself. It is bad enough to do it for a brother. To do it for a son would be unbearable. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children.

But it is exhausting.

More exhausting still is having to shelve his own feelings so he can deal with everyone else's. To be the one who sorts out disputes – does it really _matter _what it says on Fred's gravestone? Fred is dead. The words on a lump of stone won't alter that. But it is important to his mother and to George, so he negotiates between them – they are neither of them in any state to reach an agreement on their own – until a compromise is reached.

Dealing with other people's guilt is hard too. Percy and Harry both blame themselves, and neither of them have reason to. He has told them so, but after several times of saying the same thing and it not getting through, it is tempting just to give up and _let _them blame themselves. He does give up with Harry – perhaps Ginny or Ron or Hermione will finally get through to him – but he cannot do so with Percy. Percy was an idiot, blinded by pride and ambition. He hurt his family – particularly his mother - terribly. But he was brave enough in the end to admit he was wrong, to come back when it mattered, to say sorry. Bill cannot give up on him. Fred's death was not his fault, and he has to see that eventually.

It is hard to shelve his own grief for his brother to cope with everyone else's. To see his father cry for the first time he can remember. To see the look on his mother's face when she looks at George, or when she emerges from the dining room, where Fred's coffin has been placed. To see Ron trying to be brave, and pushing Hermione away because he does not want to cry in front of her. To see Ginny crying. (Ginny doesn't cry. She is the only one of them who doesn't. Having six big brothers makes a girl tough.) To see George, who is so broken that he is scarcely recognisable. How can he bear this? He is frightened for George. He does not want to lose him too.

Hardest of all to deal with is Charlie. He and Charlie have always been allies, partners, nearly as close as the twins. He needs Charlie's help to cope with all this, but Charlie is so angry – chiefly with himself, but he is taking it out on everyone else – that he is no help to anyone. Bill deals with the fallout from his brother's fury, and tries not to let his own anger show.

The pain from his reopened scars is bad, but he is almost grateful for it. It is an old, familiar pain, that he knows how to deal with. It distracts him from the pain of Fred's death, that he cannot deal with. The pain he cannot show, because he has to be strong for the rest of them.

He could not do this without Fleur. Sometimes his eyes seek hers across the room, just for the reassurance that she is there, that she is there _for him_. The look in her eyes when he does this keeps him going. Sometimes he will feel her hand on his arm or on his shoulder when he does not expect it, and see the love in her eyes as she smiles at him sadly, letting him know that she is there, that she loves him, that she will keep him together when he cannot do it himself. She holds him at night, when he finally lets go and cries for Fred, or on the nights when he is too exhausted even to cry. She is warm and loving and blessedly alive. He can go on as long as Fleur is there for him.

It is Fleur who is the trigger for him finally losing patience with Charlie. Charlie had already made both his mother and Percy cry that morning, but when he shouts at Fleur that she has no business to be upset because Fred was not _her _brother, and reduces her to tears as well, Bill loses his temper. He tells Charlie that enough is enough, that if he wants to be so _fucking_ self-indulgent in his feelings, he can go elsewhere, because they do not need him here right now. He comes closer to hitting Charlie than he has since he was seventeen. Charlie looks at him for a long minute, and Bill thinks he is going to punch him, but then he sees something in Charlie's eyes that makes him pull his brother close as Charlie finally gives in and cries. Things are marginally easier after that.

But dealing with George does not – cannot – get easier. There is nothing at all any of them can do to help him. Just looking at him hurts – partly because he looks like Fred (though Fred never looked like this – so lost, so _broken_) – but also because he no longer looks like himself (George never looked like this either). One day, George stands up abruptly and goes upstairs, and Bill knows that he has no choice but to follow him and make him let him into his room.

George is sitting on Fred's bed, pointing his wand at his own face. Bill has never been so frightened in his life. He has his own wand out, but doubts he will be quick enough to disarm George if he does go ahead and try to kill himself. He asks Bill – almost as if it doesn't matter - whether _Avada Kadevra _will work on yourself. Bill lies, and says he doesn't know. (He knows it will. Someone he knew in Egypt did it for a dare once when he was very drunk. He died.)

He knows he is crying, but he cannot stop himself. He cannot lose George too, but he does not know how to save him. When George asks him if he is going to try to stop him, inspiration strikes. He says he won't, if George tells their mother first what he is planning to do. It is cruel, but it is all he can think of.

George lets out a long breath. "That's not fair, Bill."

"None of this is fair, Georgie." He is biting his lip, trying to speak evenly, but failing. There are tears on his face now.

George hands him his wand and tells him to go. He is at the door before he realises Fred's wand is probably still in the room too, and he turns and asks George for it. George hands it over, and he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. He stands on the landing for a minute, looking at the two wands in his hand,very alike, but not completely identical. Like Fred and George. His little brothers.

He descends the stairs two at a time and goes out through the seldom-used front door. He runs across the yard and the garden to the orchard where he can hide until he stops shaking. Harry finds him there a few minutes later, and looks scared at the state he is in. He asks him if he is okay, but he cannot answer – he can barely breathe, let alone talk. Harry mutters something about finding Fleur, and runs off. Fleur is there beside him in a blessedly short time, and he holds her tightly – so tightly that he knows he is hurting her, but he cannot help himself. She is warm and loving and blessedly alive. He holds her until the shaking stops and he can breathe again, but he cannot tell her what has happened. If he does, he will start crying and not be able to stop.

He could not do this without Fleur.

He is the person keeping the family together, and she is the one stopping _him_ from falling apart.

He can go on as long as Fleur is there for him.


	12. Molly

So I lied. This is not the last chapter. There will be a short epilogue, probably from Arthur's POV.

Please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

_**Molly**_

She remembers the Boggart in the writing desk. Dead Ron, dead Arthur, dead Harry, dead Bill, dead twins. _Dead twins…_

Dead twins.

Dead twins.

She wonders if it would have been easier if George had died too, but she shies away from the thought, looks at it sideways in the edge of her mind. Is she really wishing another of her children had died?

Of course not.

Of course not.

_But George…_

She is his mother, and she cannot help him. She cannot help him.

George…

Fred…

Fred is dead. Her son. Her boy. Her baby.

She keeps seeing him. Not just his body, as it lay in the Great Hall, as it lies now in his coffin. _(In his coffin – her son.) _

But as he was.

A baby asleep in the cot, wrapped around his twin.

A toddler covered in cake mix after she left him and George alone in the kitchen for one minute – _one minute_ – to deal with Charlie falling off his broom.

A little boy looking guilty after being caught covering Percy with some appalling slime he and George had acquired from goodness-only-knew-where. (The being caught made him look guilty, not the covering Percy in slime).

A school boy on the Hogwarts express for the first time, not admitting how scared he was, but checking every two minutes that Percy was not going to abandon him and George just yet.

Crashing through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ claiming to be George.

Arguing in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place about being told the Order's secrets.

Falling back into his chair with his hands over his face in that same kitchen after Arthur was hurt and she told the children their father would live.

In the joke shop, in those horrible magenta robes, a successful businessman, and loving what he did.

Trying not to cry at Dumbledore's funeral.

In the Room of Requirement, shaking hands with Percy.

Lying dead in the Great Hall.

Lying dead in his coffin.

He is gone. Dead. Her son. Her boy. Her baby.

Fred…

She keeps seeing him, and when she sees him, he is not alone. George is beside him. Always.

And now George is alone.

She is his mother and she cannot help him. She cannot help him.

Her son. Her boy. Her baby.

She cannot help him.

George…

She is frightened for him. She cannot lose him too, but she cannot help him, does not know how to keep him safe.

George. Her son. Her boy. Her baby.

She scarcely has time for the others, which makes her feel guilty. Bill is coping with far too much. (Thank heavens for Fleur. Thank God Bill knew what was good for him better than she did.) Charlie is so angry she cannot get near to him; he will not let her. Percy is consumed with guilt, and she tries to tell him it is not his fault. She doubts if he even hears her. Ron is trying to be brave, but she can hear him screaming inside. Ginny, her little girl, is hurting more than she can bear for her. Harry needs a mother, and she cannot be a mother to him now. Not now. Hermione and Fleur are keeping the mechanics of the house running, and she is as grateful as she can be when most of her mind is elsewhere. (She should be feeling bad that Hermione cannot yet go and find her own parents, but she cannot summon the energy to feel bad about anything more.)

Arthur is her rock, her anchor, her reason to keep breathing. They hold each other as the grief and pain wash over them. They cannot really help each other, because the pain is too great, but they are there for each other. They go on together. They have to. For each other, and for the children.

For Fred.


	13. Epilogue: Arthur

This really is the end. However, I am tentatively planning an "Afermath II" dealing with events after the funeral. (At the moment I have no plans to write the funeral itself. I have read so many Fred's funeral stories - some I loved, some I hated, some were okay but not how I imagined it - that I really don't feel able to write it myself at the moment.)

However, that might be a few weeks in coming. As several of you have reminded me, both "Birthdays" and "Weasley Weddings" are overdue for an update, and I have to try to overcome my writers block for both of them. I also have at least three challenges to do...

This chapter is for Someday England with thanks for her encouragement, kind words and her own fabulous twin fics.

Please read and review.

**Aftermath – Before the Funeral**

**_Epilogue: Arthur_**

"Are we ready?"

Even as he hears himself say it, he winces and realises it is a stupid thing to say. How can anyone be ready for the funeral of their son, their brother, their twin? None of them can ever be ready for this. But it is time to go.

He looks round at them all.

Bill is standing with Fleur, holding her hand so tightly that he must be hurting her. His eyes are bleak and exhausted, but tearless. His face is set. He will not cry in front of his family if he can help it. Arthur hopes that he will give way when he is alone with Fleur. He needs to.

Fleur herself is white-faced and somehow looks even more beautiful than ever. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. She is leaning closely into Bill, as if she knows that her presence is the only thing keeping him going.

Charlie and Percy are standing together. That in itself is a small mercy. Two days ago, Arthur wondered if they might never talk to each other again. Charlie was so angry, and a lot of his anger was directed at Percy, who was already coping with more guilt than anyone should ever have to bear. Now Charlie seems to have let go of a lot of his anger and to realise how bad Percy is feeling. His face is set, like Bill's, but there are tears in his eyes that have not spilled over yet, although they probably will soon. He has his arm around Percy's shoulders, which are shaking with sobs. Percy's face is contorted with grief, and tears are running unchecked down his face. Charlie's arm around him is the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny are standing together, Ron's hand in Hermione's, Harry's arm around Ginny's shoulders. Hermione is crying quietly, but the others are dry-eyed, although Ron looks shocked, Harry is so pale he looks as though he might faint, and Ginny is biting her lip hard and blinking rapidly. All of them look so _young_.

George. George is on his own. That in itself is wrong. That in itself is the reason they are here, so quiet, so tense, waiting to go. George will always be on his own now. He was half of a whole, and now he does not know who he is. He was never meant to be on his own. He is paler even than Harry, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his white face, his brown eyes startlingly bright, his hair almost too vivid to bear. His lips are fixed in a hard line, and there are tears on his cheeks, although he is making no sound. His hands are balled into hard fists at his sides.

He should not be on his own.

Even as Arthur thinks this, it becomes obvious that someone else is thinking the same thing. Ginny whispers something to Harry, and frees herself from his encircling arm. Harry takes Hermione's free hand, and moves closer to her and Ron, so that the three of them stand together, as they have so often in the past. Ginny goes to George, and takes one of his hands. George does not look at her, but Arthur sees something in his face relax slightly, and he moves nearer to his sister's side. She is the only person he would let close to him right now.

Arthur has not looked at Molly, and he does not want to. He is frightened that if he sees the depth of pain in her eyes, pain that mirrors and echoes his own, he will not be able to do this. But he knows he cannot avoid looking at her. He moves to stand beside her and takes her hand in his. It is surprisingly warm. Somehow he finds the courage to look at her, and he sees that somehow there is hope, and love and courage in her eyes together with the grief and loss. She even manages to smile at him sadly, and to squeeze his hand. They will do this together.

Arthur hears his own voice, and wonders at how firm it sounds.

"It's time to go."


End file.
